


We're Still Here

by Witty_Name_Here



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Character Death, Compromise, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Family Secrets, First Meetings, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Inspired by Fanfiction, Jessica Moore Lives, Jessica has as much sass as Sam, Married Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Monster Hunters, Moving On, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Third Person Omniscient, Post-Loss, Protective Dean Winchester, Revenge, Sad Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Dies, Secrets, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:40:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27866269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witty_Name_Here/pseuds/Witty_Name_Here
Summary: After Sam is murdered by a werewolf pack out for revenge, Jessica is left alone to pick up the pieces of her shattered storybook life. She slowly pieces together the truth of Sam's mysterious past, and when Dean appears at Sam's funeral, the final pieces fall into place. Now, Jessica is determined to make Sam's killers pay for taking him away from her, and Dean is determined to clean up his own mess. Much to his annoyance, Jessica Moore-Winchester is not a woman content to sit on the sidelines. In a grudging compromise, they set out together to hunt down the werewolves and get justice for Sam-hunter style. Along the way, they learn more about each other and Sam as they try to move on and navigate the rest of their lives without him. They just never expected moving on to look quite like this.
Relationships: Jessica Moore & Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [My Brother's Widow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27139280) by [alexjanna91](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexjanna91/pseuds/alexjanna91). 



> This is a story I was inspired to write after reading "My Brother's Widow" by alexjanna91. If you haven't read it, check it out. 
> 
> HEY wanna talk to me privately? Email me at witttynamehereAO3@gmail.com

The salty breeze blowing off the ocean warned of a coming storm as the sun sank low, dripping its golden rays across the water. Jess gave a contented sigh as she walked alongside Sam, her arm looped around his. This was one of their favorite things to do together, even though they both said taking long walks on the beach was cliche and stupid. Maybe they were, but it didn't really matter to Jess when Sam put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side, knowing she craved his warmth.

Jess lifted her chin to study Sam's face as they walked. He'd been reticent the last few days, and she wondered, as she often did, if his contemplative nature had anything to do with the battered footlocker he kept locked and hidden in the dark recesses of their closet. Before they'd moved in together ten years ago, the footlocker had kept a permanent residence under the bed in Sam's dorm, and Jess's insatiable curiosity about it had almost been the end of her and Sam's relationship. 

Sam never said what was in the footlocker, and Jess knew better than to pry. Everyone has secrets, she told herself, and the mysterious enigma that was Sam Winchester's past drew her like a moth to a flame. He never talked about where he came from and didn't mention having any family. In the beginning, Jess had hoped that Sam would eventually trust her enough to share that part of his life with her, but after ten years together, she'd learned to accept the fact it would probably never happen. 

"You're staring again," Sam said quietly, not taking his eyes off the water as one corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. Even after ten years, he still couldn't believe Jess chose him, and although he'd never say it to anyone, his stomach still did flips when he caught her watching him, her soft brown eyes filled with love and laughter. 

"I can't help it, you're so easy on the eyes," Jess said with a soft chuckle as they stopped walking, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing closer for warmth. The sun was almost below the horizon now, and twilight was falling on the water, bringing with it a damp chill. Sam laughed, a sound Jess loved to hear more than almost anything, second only to when he said her name. "Besides, it's one of the perks of being married to you," she teased. "I get to stare at you anytime I want, and nobody can stop me." 

"You make it sound like there's more than one," Sam said, gazing down at her. She pulled away, lifting her gaze to meet his; laughter and mischief dancing in her eyes. 

"Well, I can think of at least _one_ more," she said, placing a hand on his face and stroking the two-day stubble with her thumb. 

"Oh really? What's that?" Sam chuckled. 

"I can kiss you whenever I want." Jess stood on tiptoe, no easy feat in the deep sand, and gently pulled Sam down to meet her as she covered his lips with her own in a kiss that melted her insides. Even after all this time, Sam never realized Jess wasn't just flirting with him to be cute. She’d known the very first time they’d kissed—someday she would marry Sam Winchester. 

"What would I do without you?" Sam asked as he pressed his lips to Jess's forehead. 

"Crash and burn," she replied matter-of-factly, trying and failing to keep a straight face. She squeezed him into a hug, pressing her cheek to his chest. Warmth filled her as his chest rumbled with a soft laugh, and he rested his chin on her head. 

"No doubt about it," he said, wishing with all his heart he could tell her how right she was. "C'mon, let's head back to the car." 

Jess nodded, deciding to try her luck again. "So you wanna tell me what's on your mind while we walk, or do you prefer me to start guessing?" 

Sam shook his head, falling into step next to Jess, his fingers intertwined with hers. He couldn't bring himself to tell her about his past, the way he'd grown up, the _family business_. Nothing says family quite like hunting monsters on a revenge-fueled suicide mission. He was pretty sure that even Jess, accepting and nonjudgmental as she was, wouldn't be able to wrap her head around the violence, anger, and fear he'd chosen to leave behind when he left John and Dean for Stanford all those years ago. 

Family was the most important thing in the world to Jess, and she'd always made it known how much it bothered her that he didn't talk about his own. Her family was huge, extremely well-off, and they'd accepted him with open arms. After spending time with them and seeing how  _ happy _ —how normal—they were, it just became easier to pretend he came from nothing and no one rather than dwell on what might have been. 

Days like today, though, it was impossible to pretend. There were only two days on the calendar Sam wished he could skip entirely, January 24th and November 2nd. Today was January 24th, and Dean would be thirty-six today—or at least Sam hoped he would. He hadn't seen or spoken to Dean since the night Sam left him and John in Colorado twelve years ago. Fresh guilt washed over him as he wondered for the hundredth time that day whether his dad and big brother were even still alive. 

"Sam?" Jess said, snapping her fingers in front of his face. "Hello? Earth to Samuel?" 

Sam shook his head, chasing the melancholic thoughts away as he gave Jess a tight smile. "Oh, uh, sorry. It's nothing." 

"You mean it's nothing you want to talk about," she replied, sighing softly as she shook her head. "Are you ever going to tell me what goes on in that head of yours?" 

"Probably not," Sam admitted with a slight smile. "I gotta stay interesting to you somehow." 

"Touche," Jess said with an appreciative nod. 

As they approached the parking area, the hairs on the back of Sam's neck rose and he glanced around, trying to discern anything odd from the shadows moving and dancing around them on the breeze. Something was wrong, he could _feel_ it, but he saw nothing. He squeezed Jess's hand, and she turned to him, her eyes widening. 

"Jess," Sam said, keeping his voice low, "No matter what happens, no matter what you see, I need you to go and get somewhere safe. Do you understand?" 

"Yes, but—" she started, but he raised a hand to silence her. 

"Go. Now. I love you." He gave her a hard kiss and then shoved her into the thick brush that grew in a jumbled mass next to the parking area. She started to cry out as she fell, but she choked it back as three massive men appeared out of nowhere behind Sam. 

"Well, lookie what we have here boys," one said. "If it isn't the great _Sammy Winchester_." Fucking werewolves. Sam's jaw twitched, but he said nothing, eyeing the men warily as they tried to surround him. Sam stepped slowly sideways, leading them away from where Jess was hiding, and hoping they wouldn't pick up her scent. 

"So, where's your big bro?" the apparent leader said, getting in Sam's face. "We've got a bone to pick with him." 

"Really?" Sam quipped. "Is that a werewolf pun?" No one noticed Sam pull the silver pocket knife out of his jeans, flipping it open next to his leg. "You idiots trying to be clever now?" 

"Very funny," the leader said. "Tell you what, you tell us where your brother is hiding and we'll pretend we never saw each other, sound good?" 

"You guys are the ones with the heightened sense of smell," Sam said with a small shrug. "Have you tried sniffing him out? I mean, he shouldn't be that hard to find after a couple of Gas' N Sip burritos." Sam grinned at his own joke as the other two werewolves growled at him. "I'm just sayin'. What did he do to you guys anyway?" 

"He killed our pack alpha, after that, some dude in a trenchcoat showed up and killed six others in our pack, then he touched your brother and they both disappeared into thin air. Haven't seen them since, but we got wind you were living the high life out here, and if anything will make Dean Winchester come out and play, it's hurting his little brother." 

"Hate to tell you guys this, but I haven't seen or heard from Dean in twelve years. We didn't exactly part on good terms, and the dude doesn't give a damn about me anymore. Sucks to be you, but you're wasting your time trying to get to him through me." Sam said, swallowing the lump that formed in this throat. He figured it was mostly true, anyway. Dean had tried to reach out initially, but at the time, Sam was so hurt and angry at their dad that he just couldn't risk getting dragged back into the family drama. He needed free of it, so he never answered any of Dean's calls, and Sam was certain after all this time, Dean had washed his hands of his little brother forever. 

"Doesn't matter," the leader said, his claws and teeth lengthening as his wolf form took over. "He took seven of ours, we'll take what we can get." 

Jess watched in horror from her hiding spot in the bushes as Sam, armed with nothing but the silver pocket knife Dean gave him for his tenth birthday, fought the three monsters attacking him. They clawed and tore at him, and Sam fought back as hard as he could, but after so many years out of the hunting life, he was no match against three werewolves alone. 

Within minutes, they had him pinned to the ground, ripping his body to shreds before Jess's eyes. She clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle the scream that threatened to escape, not realizing her face was soaked with tears as she watched, frozen and helpless, as the love of her life took his last breaths fifteen feet away from her. The scream would come later when she was alone and reliving those moments like a busted radio that only played one song on endless repeat. 

Jess pulled her phone from her jacket pocket, pressing the emergency call button. 

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?" a voice on the other end of the line said. 

"M-My husband," Jess whispered, "he's been—attacked. He's hurt badly. P-please hurry." 

"Where are you?" 

"Dunes Beach Parking Area. Half Moon Bay." Jess ended the call as one of the creatures looked up from Sam's body, sniffing the air cautiously. Sirens wailed in the distance, getting louder by the second as the leader scanned their surroundings but saw nothing, and the harsh sea breeze left nothing but the tangy scent of brine in his nostrils. 

"Let's go," he growled to the others, "cops are on their way. We'll get Dean Winchester soon enough." 

The three monsters disappeared into the trees, and Jess stayed in her hiding spot, frozen in place until the police and paramedics showed up, their flashing lights bathing the trees around her in an alternating pattern of red and blue. She emerged from the bushes as the paramedics loaded Sam's lifeless body into an open body bag on a stretcher. 

"Miss? Miss, are you hurt?" Jess heard the female police officer speaking to her, but the words were distorted like Jess was underwater. She shook her head, not really understanding the question and not really caring that she didn't. Her whole life was gone now, currently being zipped up into a noisy black bag and shoved into the back of a rolling metal coffin. "What's your name, miss?" 

"Jessica," she replied automatically in a voice she wasn't sure was her own. "Jessica Winchester." 

"Were you the one who called 911? Can you tell us what happened?" 

Jess nodded, then shook her head and pressed her lips together in a grim line as fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. "Wolves. They came out of nowhere and attacked us. My husband, he lured them away and tried to-to—" They wouldn't believe the truth, Jess was sure of it, and her father would lose his mind if she started ranting like a crazy person to the police. "Oh God, he's-he's gone. They killed him." 

Jessica buried her face in her hands and began to cry, deep, wracking sobs that shook her entire body. She'd forgotten to tell him about the social worker's call earlier. The baby they'd waited so long for would officially be theirs in three days when the judge signed the papers. Jess cried harder as she imagined Sam's face lighting up at the news. 

The police asked more questions as the ambulance drove away from the scene with only its lights flashing. There were no more sirens; there was no point now. Jess's vision stayed fixated on the bloodstain where Sam's body had fallen, the shadows and lights shimmering and blurred through a curtain of tears. "Is there someone you can call to help you get home, Mrs. Winchester?" 

"My car's over there," Jess gestured vaguely in the exact opposite direction of where her car was currently parked. 

"Yeah," the officer said, drawing out the word. "I really think you should call someone. You probably shouldn't be alone right now, and you certainly shouldn't be driving." 

"Right," Jess said, sniffing and wiping her face, trying to pull herself together before calling her mother. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and pressed the button for her mom's phone with a trembling finger. It rang three times, and Jess almost lost it again when her mom answered. 

"Mom?" Jess croaked, her throat tightening so much it threatened to cut off her air supply. She couldn't do this; she couldn't live without Sam. She didn't want to. 

"Jess?" Carol Moore's voice echoed through the speaker, brimming with panic for her daughter's wellbeing. "Jess, are you alright?" 

The phone almost fell from Jess's trembling hand, and the officer held out her own, gesturing toward the phone. Jess nodded, handing it over as she wrapped her arms around her middle as though she were literally trying to hold herself together. "Hello?" the officer said. "To whom am I speaking?" 

"This is Carol Moore. Jessica is my daughter. Is she alright?" 

"This is Officer Bradley of the Half Moon Bay Police Department. Your daughter is fine, physically, but there's been an incident with your son-in-law. You should probably meet us at the station." 

"A-Alright. I'm on my way." The line went dead, and Officer Bradley handed Jess's phone back to her. 

"Let's get you to the station then," Bradley said, getting a silent nod from Jessica as her only response. 

~~~~~ 

Dean stepped out of the shower, wrapping himself in the scratchy, too-small motel room towel, leaving wet footprints on the faded carpet as he padded across the room to where he'd dumped his duffle bag across the second queen bed. Even after twelve years, it was still a habit to get a room with two beds, and it stabbed him in the heart each time he opened a door and remembered. 

He grabbed his toothbrush, then used the remote and flicked on the T.V. to a national news channel. He almost turned it right back off, but the announcer's words piqued his interest. It wouldn't be the first time he found a case this way. _"Authorities are asking for the public's help in tracking down a pack of wolves that attacked and killed a Half Moon Bay, California resident late last night as he and his wife were walking to their car near Dunes Beach."_

Dean shrugged, making a mental note and holding up the remote to turn off the T.V. as the announcer continued. _"Samuel William Winchester and his wife Jessica were out walking at Dunes Beach last night when they were attacked by the feral animals . According to the police report, he tried to lure the animals away and got overpowered. Police could not determine the direction the animals fled, and is asking the public to be on the lookout. His death has been ruled accidental at this time. Back to you, Dave."_

Dean stumbled, collapsing against the bed as the air left his lungs and the world spun out of control. Sam was dead? Sam? His Sammy? That couldn't be right; it had to be someone else. It _had_ to be. There was no other explanation because his brother was _not_ dead. He knew better than to try and call, Sam never answered his phone, and he never called back, which left him only one option. It was a four-day drive to Half Moon Bay; he'd better get a move on. 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**_Two Days Later_ **

Jess parked Sam's Charger in front of the crematorium, gripping the steering wheel so hard the muscles of her forearms were clearly defined and her knuckles were devoid of color. Her brother, Josh, sat in the passenger seat, eying his older sister with concern. He said nothing, assuming she didn't want yet another well-meaning person to ask if she was alright when it was obvious she was the furthest thing from it. How was she supposed to be alright after seeing her husband die right in front of her? 

There was something _different_ about Jess now. It wasn't just the tsunami of grief that rolled off her; there was a darkness inside his sister, as though losing Sam had somehow turned off all the light in her soul. Once, Jess's eyes were full of laughter, and now—now there was nothing but empty, if she even acknowledged anyone's presence at all. Josh reminded himself it had only been three days since Sam's death. They hadn't even had the memorial service yet, and here he was already expecting his big sis to be a-ok again. He needed Jess to be okay, though, because the alternative was too much to bear. 

"So tell me again why the crematorium wanted us to provide—what was it, rock salt?" Josh asked, trying to break the ice between them. 

"Any special requests for cremation must be provided by the family," Jess said robotically. Everything she'd done for the past two days had been on autopilot, and she'd barely kept herself together to do even that much. Carol fussed and fretted over her middle daughter, but all she succeeded in doing was annoying Jess to the point she thought she might actually start screaming and never stop. It was the reason Jess was sitting in the parking lot of the crematorium in her dead husband's car. 

She glanced at Josh, shutting off the ignition as tears threatened to escape the confines of her red-rimmed eyes. Would she ever stop crying at the thought of Sam? She supposed not, but even if by some miracle she woke up one day and didn't automatically burst into tears, that day definitely wasn't today, and tomorrow's chances were slim to nonexistent. 

"That's not what I meant, Jess. Look, I'm not trying to talk bad about your hubby, but the dude was a _little_ weird when he was alive, but wanting to be cremated with rock salt? What the hell?" Josh said, frowning at his sister. 

"Shut up, Josh," Jess warned, shooting him an icy stare. "Sam was the best man I know, and this was the _one_ thing he always insisted on. He made me promise, and if my husband wants to be salted and preserved like a Christmas ham before he's cremated, then dammit, I can do that for him. God knows I couldn't keep him safe, maybe this one thing I can get right!" 

The tears ran down her cheeks again, and she wiped at them angrily. "Fuck!" Jess sniffed, pulling the trunk release as she shoved the door open and got out, slamming it behind her. She lifted the trunk lid, staring blankly at the single five-pound bag of rock salt laying on the trunk floor as she started to cry again. Josh got out of the car, moving to pull his sister into a hug. 

"Shh, it's okay, sis," Josh murmured as he rubbed her back to soothe her. It didn't work, but nothing would, and he knew it. "Here, I'll take it in. You don't have to do it." 

Jess pulled out of his embrace, taking a deep breath and wiping her eyes again. "Thanks, Josh. I appreciate it, but I really do need to do this. I promised Sam, and I intend to keep that promise." 

"I understand," Josh said. He didn't understand, but he knew there was no point in arguing with his sister. Jess usually got her way, either by charm or by force, but no matter what, her wish was everyone's command. It drove Josh bananas when they were kids; he was supposed to be the spoiled rotten one, he was the baby after all, but no. 

Jess gave Josh a tight smile, then grabbed the bag of salt, holding it in the crook of her arm as she headed for the entrance to the crematorium and tried not to think about the baby she and Sam weren't bringing home today. This is not the way her life was supposed to go. They were supposed to have kids, grow old together, and hopefully have grandkids coming out of their ears someday. 

Instead, she was a thirty-two-year-old widow who watched her husband get torn apart by monsters, and she didn't even know why. Jess could remember only bits of the words Sam exchanged with the men—monsters—before they attacked him. _Where's your brother?_ She shook her head, frowning to herself. As far as she knew, Sam didn't have a family. At least not one he ever talked about. That was one of those things she always assumed he'd tell her someday, but that day never came, and now it never would. 

The technician greeted her, then cleared her throat when Jess didn't respond. Jess shook her head, forcing herself out of her thoughts. Inside her head was a dangerous place to be right now, anyway. "Hi," she said without feeling, "this is for my husband, Samuel Winchester. He wanted it poured over his body before he's cremated." 

Jess choked back a sob as the technician took the bag of salt from her arms, and the woman nodded kindly. "I'll see to it that it gets done. You have my word." 

"Can I—see him?" Jess asked, hugging herself. "To say goodbye? I haven't seen him since—" she took a deep breath, "since it happened." 

The technician's eyes went wide, then she glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one else was around. "Follow me," she said, leading the way through a set of steel double doors behind her. Jess followed, swallowing hard and forcing her heart out of her throat. She wasn't ready to tell Sam goodbye, but when would she ever be ready for something like that? 

The technician scanned her keycard and unlocked another set of double doors, gesturing for Jess to go inside. "I'll give you a few minutes, and then you'll have to go. I'm sorry." 

Jess nodded, her mouth set into a thin smile. "Thank you." She took a deep breath and let it out, then squared her shoulders and walked through the doors. Sam's body laid on a steel table in the middle of the room, a white cloth draped over his body from the neck down. A sob caught in her throat as she crossed the room and stood next to the table. She hadn't expected him to look like he was simply sleeping. He looked almost...peaceful. 

"Hey you," Jess whispered as fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. She stroked his hair with one hand as she gently pressed her lips to his forehead, squeezing her eyes closed and letting her tears drip onto Sam's face. "I love you so, so much. There's so much I still want to tell you, but there isn't time. There's never enough time. How am I supposed to live this life without you? I don't want to even think about waking up tomorrow or the next day and not ever seeing your face again. I hope wherever you are, you're at peace. Don't give up on me, I'll see you again when this world is through with me." 

The magnetic locks on the door clicked, and the technician appeared in the doorway behind her. Jess glanced at her in acknowledgment, then turned back to Sam's body, stroking his hair one last time. "Goodbye, Sam. I love you." She kissed his forehead once more, then turned and followed the technician from the room. 

"Thank you again," Jess said quietly. "I appreciate it more than you know." The technician nodded, then held out a large envelope. 

"These are for you. They were his personal effects. Wallet, keys, cell phone, a silver watch, a silver wedding band, and a beaded bracelet," the technician rattled the list off from memory as Jess took the envelope. "Oh, and a silver pocket knife with the initials D.A.W. engraved on the handle." 

Jess nodded, unable to form words around the semi-permanent lump lodged in her throat. She walked out of the crematorium without looking back and found Josh leaning lazily on the hood of Sam's car. "There you are," he said, smiling at her as he shielded his eyes from the midday sun. "I thought you got lost, or worse, they mistook you for one of the stiffs." 

Jess gave him a look that could freeze hellfire, and his smile fell. "Sorry, Jess," he murmured. "You know I didn't mean—" 

"I know what you meant," Jess replied, gritting her teeth. "Let's just go, alright?" 

Great, now he'd done it. He hadn't meant to hurt Jess, and any other time she would've at least cracked a smile at his juvenile attempt at humor. _Any other time her husband hadn't just died, you idiot!_ Jess started the car, backing out of the parking space and spinning the tires as she raced away from the crematorium. The more she drove this car, the more she thought she understood why Sam loved it, and it wasn't long before the deep rumble of the exhaust under her seat soothed her frayed nerves, ever so slightly. 

They rode in silence back to Jess and Sam's house, although Jess supposed it was just _her_ house now. That was not a thought she wanted to consider at the moment, so she gave it a violent mental shove out the proverbial door. Jess groaned as she pulled the car into the drive and saw her mom's Lexus and her sister's BMW parked at the curb. Why couldn't everyone just leave her alone for five minutes? 

Jess sighed deeply as she turned off the ignition, and she rested her head on the steering wheel. She was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and she didn't know how she would get through another gathering of people whose piteous eyes just stared at her as though at any moment she might shatter into a million pieces. They weren't wrong, that's exactly how she felt, but that didn't mean they should get to observe her like she was some sort of sideshow for their entertainment. 

Josh pulled the door handle, glancing over to her before he climbed out of the car. "You coming, sis?" 

Jess didn't lift her head to look at him, waving him away. "I'll be there in a minute. I gotta pull myself together or mom just might have me committed." 

Josh chuckled slightly, shaking his head as he got out of the car. "Just—don't take too long, alright? You know how she gets." Jess sighed, then nodded and shooed him away. 

Jess let out a breath as Josh closed the door and walked away, leaving her in blissful silence once again. She breathed deeply, marveling at the hint of his cologne that lingered in the car, and then made the first conscious decision she had since Sam died. She would never, ever let this car go. She leaned back in the seat, resting her head on the headrest and doing her best to hold onto Sam, at least for a little while longer. 

"Jessica!" Carol called from the porch steps. "Jessica! Are you going to stay out here all evening? You have guests, dear. Come inside." 

_Damn_. Jess heaved a sigh, then opened the door and climbed out of the car. She gave her mom the obligatory hug and cheek kiss, then her mother held her at arm's length and studied her features. "How are you, sweetheart? You look exhausted. Have you been sleeping?" 

Jess bit her tongue to keep the acerbic reply at bay. Now was not the time to be sarcastic, no matter how much she wanted to be. Her mom was only trying to help, and even though her worrying drove Jess crazy, lashing out wasn't going to help anyone. 

"Mom," Jess said, taking her mother's hands in her own and squeezing them gently. "I appreciate your concern but I'm not fine, and I'm probably not going to be fine for a very long time, and there's nothing anyone can do or say that will change that. So please, stop asking me how I am every five minutes. I'm begging you." 

Carol nodded, squeezing Jess's hands in reply. "I'm sorry sweetheart. It's just I know you're suffering, and I can't fix it or stop it. You're my baby, and it breaks my heart to see you like this. I love you, Jess." 

"I know, Mom," Jess said. "I love you too. Let's go inside." 

Josh held the door open for them, following them inside. Josette rounded the corner with her arms out wide, pulling Jess into a huge hug. "Hey, Josie," Jess said weakly as tears filled her eyes again. "You didn't have to come all the way out here from Chicago." 

Josette released her sister, frowning incredulously at her sister. "Why the hell wouldn't I be here, Jess? You're my sister, and and Sam was as much a part of our family as any of us. Of course I'm going to be here!" 

"I didn't mean it like that Josie," Jess said, giving her sister a weak smile. "It's just—I know you're busy getting the new branch up and running, and that has to stay on schedule." 

"It's fine," Josie said, waving a hand in dismissal. "Danny can handle it for a couple of days. Now, how are you doing my dear?" 

Jessica took a deep breath and counted to five—three times. One more time, she told herself, one more time, and she would legitimately scream. 

~~~~~ 

Early the next morning, Dean checked into a hotel near Half Moon Bay, California. He'd made great time, shaving a whole day of the drive by not stopping for more than an hour or two at a time. It left him weary all the way to his bones, and he couldn't rest just now if he wanted to get a look at Sam's body before the funeral. 

After a shower and three cups of motel room coffee, Dean still didn't feel quite awake, but at least he still had one working brain cell. It was debatable how long that would last, though. Keep moving forward, he told himself as he grabbed his keys and drove the five minutes to the coroner's office. 

Dean took a deep breath, then pushed open the door and strolled up to the desk where a nurse sat typing a report and generally looking bored. "Good morning," he said, flashing an awkward half-smile as he held out his badge for inspection. "I'm Agent Simmons, and I was hoping to speak to Dr. Lassiter. Is he here by chance?" 

The nurse took the badge, scrutinizing it with narrowed eyes, then handed it back to Dean, gesturing toward the bench nearby. "He's in autopsy. Have a seat and I'll let him know you're here." Dean nodded, murmuring thanks, then sat down to wait and closed his eyes for just a second. 

"Sir, are you alright?" 

Dean's eyes flew open as he inhaled sharply, his heart hammering in his chest. "Yeah," he said, taking another deep breath. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just been working long hours." 

"Well, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, but it seems like maybe you needed the nap. Anyway, I'm Dr. Lassiter. What can I do for you Agent Simmons?" He extended his hand, and Dean stood up to shake it. 

"I was hoping to have a word with you about a case that came across my desk, do you have a few minutes to chat?" 

Dr. Lassiter looked confused, then glanced at his watch. "I think I can spare a few minutes, if you don't mind walking and talking." 

"No problem," Dean replied, falling in step with the doctor as they disappeared into the depths of the morgue. "It's about case file 53-923601, a—," Dean held up his notepad and pretended to read it, "Samuel William Winchester." 

The doctor tensed, but his face remained passive. "Why is the FBI looking into an animal attack?" 

"Well, there's been a string of attacks like these in small towns all across the country, and I'm the one in charge of finding the connection between them. If you ask me, there's nothing to see here, but I go where they tell me to." Dean shrugged, spreading his hands wide. "What can you do? So would you mind humoring me?" 

"Suppose it couldn't hurt. What do you want to know?" 

"If you have the time, I'd like to start from the beginning," Dean replied, flipping a page on his notebook and readying his pen. 

"Alright," Dr. Lassiter said with a sigh. "Let's see, Samuel Winchester was brought in three days ago, DOA. He'd sustained multiple lacerations to his chest and torso, with a few lacerations extending down to mid-thigh region. His femoral artery was severed, and he bled out in minutes. His wife told the police it was wolves that attacked him, but if you ask me, those marks were too big to be made by any wolf I've ever heard of." 

Dean raised an eyebrow and looked up from the pad he was currently pretending to take notes on. "Oh, really? Do you think his wife lied, or that maybe she was involved somehow?" 

The doctor shook his head. "No, the cops ruled her out immediately. They said she could barely hold it together long enough to tell them what happened, there's no way she sliced up her husband like that. Besides, the differing length and depth of his lacerations matches her story of multiple attackers. Then there's also the fact that Samuel Winchester was six feet four inches tall. His wife—she was five feet six inches tall. She is not physically large enough to cause that kind of damage to her husband, but between you and me, something else happened out there that night and she's too spooked to tell the cops. But what am I gonna do without any real evidence?" 

"I understand," Dean replied. "Just one more request and I'll get out of your hair." 

"Sure, what can I do for you?" 

"Do you mind if I take a look at the body, just to make sure I get all the details right for my report?" 

Dr. Lassiter hesitated, his brows furrowing for a moment as though he recalled a memory. "Sorry Agent Simmons, Samuel was cremated yesterday." 

_Son of a bitch!_ Dean cursed mentally, trying to stay calm and breathe normally. Now was not the time to lose it. _Come on, Dean. Breathe!_

"There was something strange about that too," Dr. Lassiter added helpfully. "The technician called me yesterday and said Samuel's wife brought in a five pound bag of rock salt to be burned with his remains. It's an odd request to be sure, but I've seen crazier things than that." He shrugged, turning toward Dean. "Is there anything else you needed, Agent Simmons?" 

"No sir," Dean replied, extending his hand, "You've given me everything I need. Thank you very much for your time." Dr. Lassiter gave Dean a thin-lipped smile, taking his outstretched hand into a firm grip, then let it go and walked away without another word, leaving Dean to see himself out. 


	3. Chapter 3

Jess sank into the overstuffed chair, kicking off her shoes and tucking her feet underneath her as she hugged a throw pillow that read, "you are my sunshine." Tears threatened to fall again as she watched her family move about in the kitchen, putting away food from well-wishers and keeping the guests that stopped by unannounced from bothering her too much. She didn't trust herself to speak without bursting into tears again, but she didn't exactly want everyone to leave either. 

Actually, Jess thought being alone in the house would be its own unique brand of torture, and if she ended up in hell when she died, that is precisely what her suffering would look like. Every time the front door had opened, Jess's heart leaped into her throat, and she would stare expectantly, waiting for Sam to walk through it and greet her. This time, she didn't bother to look up, knowing it wouldn't be Sam. 

There was a chorus of hellos from the kitchen as Charles Moore entered the house. "Pumpkin?" Jess's head snapped toward the door as her father gave her a small smile, holding his arms out to her. 

"Hey, Dad," Jess said, her voice weary as she stood up and hugged her father. "How was the drive from L.A.?" 

"Not too bad," he replied, letting Jess go and taking a seat on the couch across from her. "How are you doing with all this?" He gestured broadly toward her mom and siblings, and Jess forced herself to not roll her eyes. 

"How do you think I'm doing, Dad?" Jess replied, failing to keep the venom out of her words. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "Sorry." 

"It's alright, sweetheart," he chuckled. "It's understandable. What do you need?" 

"I need my husband to be alive," Jess muttered, squeezing the pillow tighter as she curled in on herself. "But since that isn't going to happen...I don't know what I need, Dad. Time to grieve, I guess." 

Charles nodded, pressing his hands to his knees as he stood up. "Alright everyone, let's clear out and give Jess some breathing room." 

Carol put the last of the food in the refrigerator, then regarded Jess with pursed lips. "Do you really think that's what she needs, Charles? To be alone the night before her husband's funeral?" 

"I'm right here, Mom," Jess rolled her eyes, "and I can hear you." 

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Carol said, crossing her arms. "I didn't mean it like that." 

"I know, Mom." Jess sighed as she closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. "But as much as I don't want to be alone in this house, I'll have to do it eventually. Might as well get it over with." 

"Alright," Carol sighed. "If that's what you need, then that's what we'll do." She turned to Josie and Josh, "you heard your sister. Let's go." 

Jess breathed an internal sigh of relief as her family gathered their things and headed for the door. She forced herself to get up and see them off, even though her entire body felt like it was full of lead. After two rounds of hugs and well wishes, Jess shooed them out the door, waving as she closed it behind them. 

Jess let out a long breath as she leaned her forehead against the glass panel and closed her eyes. The silence in the house quickly became deafening, and tears welled in her eyes. "No," she whispered, clearing her throat and blinking the tears away as she stood up straight. 

She climbed the stairs, her feet feeling like they were encased in concrete. A fresh wave of sorrow washed over her as she passed the nursery, and she took a deep breath, staring at the mobile twirling above the crib. The sheer curtains fluttered in the breeze of the open window, and Jess rolled her eyes, wiping her cheek. "Mom," she muttered, crossing the room to close the window. 

Why the hell did she think she could do this? Jess twirled the mobile again, then picked up the gray stuffed rabbit sitting in the corner of the crib. She stroked the front of the bunny, sinking to the floor next to the crib as sobs wracked her body. "Sam," Jess whispered, pressing the rabbit to her forehead as she cried. "I can't do this without you. It hurts too much." 

Jess cried until she was exhausted, curling up on the floor of the nursery as she clutched the rabbit to her chest. She slept for a time, waking well after nightfall, her eyes gritty and her head pounding. She dug the heel of her hand into one eye, stretching and forcing herself to stand up and stumble to the bathroom. 

After washing her face, Jess stared into the mirror for a long time, studying her drawn features and haunted eyes. Carol was right; she _did_ look like hell. Although Jess didn't know how else she could look, given the circumstances. She honestly didn't know how she'd ever be okay again. If breathing wasn't automatic, Jess was certain she would've taken her last one the same moment Sam took his. It occurred to her as she turned off the faucet how strange the world was now. Three days ago, there was light and color in everything, and now—now Jess only saw shades of gray. She'd always known Sam was the light of her life and losing him only proved her theory correct. 

Jess walked into their bedroom, stripping off her clothes and pulling Sam's Stanford t-shirt over her head. The fabric draped around her like a tent without poles, billowing and shifting as she hugged herself and sniffed the shirt collar, inhaling the faint scent of aftershave and laundry soap. She glanced at the bed, memories of their lives flashing in her mind, and she flipped off the light and padded downstairs. There was no way she could sleep in that bed alone. 

Jess wandered into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and marveling at her mother's expert way of stacking all the casseroles and serving dishes. How the hell was she supposed to eat all this? If she froze most of it, she wouldn't have to worry about cooking for the next decade, maybe longer. She let out a frustrated sigh as she closed the refrigerator. Nothing looked appealing; her appetite had apparently died with her husband. The food would definitely last longer than a decade at this rate. 

Jess scanned the cabinets and pantry, although she wasn't sure what she was actually looking for. She didn't necessarily _want_ anything, but she couldn't think of anything else to do. Her eyes fell on the box of chamomile tea sitting on the edge of a shelf and she smiled to herself. Sam used to drink it the night before a test to soothe his frayed nerves and help him sleep. The tea she could do. Jess didn't trust herself to use the stove, so she filled the electric kettle with water instead, drumming her fingers on the countertop until it whistled. 

She left the tea steeper ball in the mug when she picked it up, a habit that used to drive Sam bonkers. After a while, Jess had only done it to needle him, finding his visceral reaction and resulting bitchface amusing. It was such a silly thing to get annoyed about, but she found that many things were hiding just under the surface of the enigma that was Sam Winchester. 

Jess wrapped her hands around the steaming mug, her icy fingers soaking up the warmth that permeated the ceramic cup. "Alexa, play Sam's Playlist," Jess said as she curled up in the overstuffed chair once more. When the music started, she instantly regretted choosing that playlist, having forgotten it was full of the songs she and Sam danced to at their wedding. _"What day is it...and in what month...this clock never seemed so alive…"_

Dammit. Dammit all to hell and back a million times. 

Tears streamed silently down her face as she sipped her tea, listening to their song. She couldn't tell if she was unwilling or unable to turn it off, but it didn't matter the reason; the result was the same. 

_"And it's you and me...and all of the people...and I don't know why...I can't keep my eyes off of you."_

She stared at the rug in front of the fireplace, where they'd spent their first anniversary—eating leftover wedding cake and dancing to that song. How could this have happened? Sam wasn't supposed to go and leave her alone like this. Jess closed her eyes, memories playing like a slideshow behind her eyes. "Alexa, stop." 

It occurred to Jess now that in all the life they'd had together, Sam still seemed somehow—incomplete, as though there was a massive crater in his soul that once held something important. Jess found herself wishing once again that Sam had trusted her enough to share what he so desperately seemed to want to forget. If Sam did have family out there, didn't they deserve to know that their son or brother was gone? Shouldn't they have a chance to celebrate his life, to learn about the man he'd become in the last twelve years? 

Jess debated about that thought for a few moments, unsure of the answer. On the one hand, her belief in the importance of family clouded her judgment, and her response was an emphatic yes. Yes, they did deserve that closure. On the other hand, though, Sam never mentioned his family, and Jess wasn't naive enough to believe he came from nothing and nowhere, no matter how much he wanted to pretend that was true. If Jess was honest with herself, she had no idea if Sam was running away from or running toward something when he wound up at Stanford in the Fall of 2001. 

All she knew for sure was that Sam Winchester was the floppy-haired boy who carried a metric ton of suppressed pain and secrets, stored away in a locked box that he wouldn't get rid of but he couldn't bear to open. The boy she'd loved through all the nightmares and sadness, joys and pain that the two of them endured for the last ten years. If only he'd trusted her enough to tell her about his childhood. What could've happened that was so horrible? Jess shook her head, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't come up with a single scenario terrible enough to explain it. 

The footlocker. 

Jess sucked in a breath, nearly dropping her mug of tea. All of Sam Winchester's secrets were locked in that box; she just knew it. Did she dare invade his privacy now? What if she opened the box and found answers to all her questions, but they only led to more questions? Was it worth possibly never knowing the whole story because he wasn't here to explain whatever Jess found? Jess worried her bottom lip with her teeth, then made up her mind. 

She set the half drank, now cold mug of tea on the coffee table and took the stairs two at a time to their bedroom, throwing the closet doors open and yanking the string to turn on the light as she tore through the closet, creating a space in the large walk-in for the footlocker to sit. Grunting, she slid the box from its hiding place in the corner beneath a mountain of Christmas ornaments. The padlock rattled against the side of the box, and Jess eyed it with disdain. 

The key had to be here somewhere. Surely Sam wouldn't literally lock his secrets up and throw away the key, would he? He'd had that box since he got to Stanford, so Jess supposed it might be possible the key was gone, but— 

Struck with a sudden idea, Jess raced down the stairs and out the front door, running across the lawn toward Sam's Charger. Jess yanked open the passenger door, finding the envelope with Sam's things right where she'd left it. She dumped it in the seat, crowing with accomplishment when she discovered his keyring, lifting it up to the light for inspection. Sure enough, a shiny masterlock key sat on a ring by itself. 

"Here goes nothing," Jess mumbled, slamming the car door and running back into the house. She was out of breath by the time she got back to the closet. Her heart pounded and her breathing came in gasps, but she barely noticed as she slipped the key in the lock and turned it. The lock popped free, and Jess took a deep breath to steady herself before opening the lid. 

No, no, this couldn't be right. Jess sat back on her heels, shaking her head in astonishment. The box was filled to the brim with occult books, journals, ingredients, and so. many. weapons. Machetes, pistols, a dozen or more hunting knives, all made out of different materials. Silver, gold, brass, iron, steel. Who the hell was the man Jess had married? Had he been some sort of occult serial killer? 

There was no way. Not her Sam. Her Sam was sweet, thoughtful, and generous to a fault. Her Sam believed in things, believed people were inherently good, and humanity was worth saving. Her Sam taught her so much about unconditional love it was almost unbearable to think about. There's no way this is what he'd been hiding from her all these years; it just wasn't possible. 

Jess emptied the box completely, picking up and inspecting each item she found and setting it on the closet floor surrounding her until she reached the very bottom. The last thing left was a battered and worn manila envelope, stuffed to the brim with photos and papers. Jess pulled out the photos, her breath catching in her throat as she flipped through them. 

One photograph of a young Sam with an older boy who had an arm draped loosely across Sam's shoulders. They were leaning against the trunk of a classic car, squinting into the sun. Jess turned it over, reading the scrawling handwriting on the back. _Sammy - age 10, Dean - age 14_. Another photo of Sam with the same boy, both of them taller now, and a grumpy looking bearded man all stood together behind a dead buck. _Sammy - age 13, Dean - age 17._

Jess flipped through all the photographs, then sorted them by the ages listed on the back, trying to piece it all together. There were a few photos of just Sam and a few of the other boy, Dean, but most of the pictures were of both boys together. Jess flipped through the images again, watching with a mixture of horror and curiosity as she saw the light in Dean's eyes grow dimmer with each passing picture, except for the ones that were taken as he looked at Sam. There was so much love and affection in his eyes, it brought tears to Jessica's own. 

Dean had to be the brother the werewolves had been talking about that night. The brother Sam never mentioned, didn't talk about, chose to pretend didn't exist. What had happened between them that was so terrible they hadn't spoken since Sam left for college? Jess flipped through the photos again, picking up even more details. Both the boys were muscle-bound, although underweight and always sporting some sort of wound or healing bruise. 

Jess remembered the scars. There were so many across Sam's arms and torso she couldn't even begin to count them. Some of them were fresher than others, and Sam was excellent at deflecting questions about their origins. Most of them had faded to thin silver lines by the time he died, and Jess had drawn her own conclusions about where they'd come from, assuming they were the reason Sam never mentioned his family. Looking at the photos, though, Jessica wasn't sure what to think because it wasn't just Sam covered in the telltale signs of the abuse the brothers endured. 

She finally set the photos aside, dumping out the rest of the envelope's contents into a heap on her lap. Postcards and unopened letters all tumbled out, showering her in a pile of memories too painful for Sam to mention. Jess swallowed the lump in her throat, understanding more with each passing minute why Sam sometimes retreated into himself and didn't come out for a while. 

Something hard tumbled from the envelope, the corner edge nailing her right on her ankle bone, bouncing and landing on the floor in front of her. "Ouch," she muttered, picking up the offending object. A friggin' cell phone? What the hell? 

Ignoring the stabbing pain in her ankle, Jess practically leaped to her feet and ran to the bedroom, putting the phone on her e-reader charger. She drummed her fingers on her legs impatiently, then decided to make better use of her time by repacking the box. This time, she packed it with the weapons first, followed by the photos and then the books, which she took the time to flip through, almost forgetting about the phone. 

Jess's head was spinning by the time she finished repacking the box, only to finally remember the charging phone. She slammed the lid closed, then perched on the edge of the bed, powering up the phone. The screen lit up, demanding a passcode. 

"Paranoid much, Sam?" Jess muttered, typing in the six-digit code Sam used for pretty much everything. "012479" She had no idea what the significance of the numbers was, and Jess was confident Sam had no idea she even knew his super-secret password for everything. The phone unlocked, showing 23 voicemail messages. "Well, I've already come this far, might as well go all the way." 

She pressed the voicemail speed dial, putting in the same passcode, growing more impatient by the second, until the first message began playing. 

**_August 2001:_** _"Heya Sammy, I was hoping we could talk about what happened. Call me when you get settled in alright? Stay safe." _

**_September 2001: "_** _Heya Sammy. Are you really not going to talk to me? Look, I know you're pissed about what Dad said, but you said some stuff you didn't mean too, right? Please call me, I need to know you're okay. Stay safe."_

**_January 2002:_** _"Heya *hic* Sammy! Hope you have a *hic* good fucking life. Happy *hic* fucking Birthday to me. Don't worry, I won't bother you anymore. *hic*_

Several more messages followed the same pattern, and Jess listened to each of them until one message turned her blood to ice. 

**_July 2006:_** _"Heya Sammy." *clear throat* "Uh, I don't know how to say this but—"..." Probably not something I should say in a voicemail, but since you won't pick up your damn phone—" *clears throat again* "Me and Dad ganked the thing that killed Mom, but Dad, he's—"..." Dad's dead, Sammy, so please—please call me back. I need my brother, man."_

The _thing_ that killed their mom? Jess shook her head, more confused than ever. One of the only things Sam had ever told her about his childhood was that his mother died in a house fire when he was only six months old. He didn't even remember her, not really.

Jess listened to the rest of the messages, and the more she listened, the less she understood. The one thing she knew for sure was that Sam died because those three monsters were looking for the voice on this phone. Despite everything she'd learned, she couldn't make heads or tails of any of it without Sam to explain it to her, leaving her with more questions than answers. 

She sighed, tossing the phone into the footlocker on top of everything else and wondering if Sam had ever bothered to check those voicemails as she slammed the lid. Had he known his father died seven years ago? It made her angry to think Sam might have known and chosen to carry the burden of that grief alone. Jess shook her head. No, she couldn't go down that road; it only led to bitterness. Sam's story was his to tell, and it wasn't her fault he'd chosen to not share his pain with anyone. 

Sighing, she yanked the string for the closet light and took one last long look at their bed before going downstairs and sleeping as uncomfortable as possible on the overstuffed chair she loved so much. Tomorrow was going to suck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is You and Me by Lifehouse Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ac3HkriqdGQ


	4. Chapter 4

The first rays of the early morning sun reflected off the chrome trim of the Impala's windshield, focusing like a laser beam on Dean's eyes. He startled awake, pressing the heel of his hand to one eye and biting back the bile that rose in his throat as he fumbled for the door handle, barely getting it open before he spewed the liquid contents of his stomach on the ground outside. 

The world spun and tilted freestyle, and he panted as he forced himself to sit up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Dean's head was pounding as he stepped out of the car, avoiding the mess on the ground, and grabbed his toothbrush and a bottle of water from his duffle bag as he hopped up on the trunk to watch the waves crash along the shore. He squinted, trying to piece together the night before as his blood pounded in his ears, drowning out the sound of the waves.

Dean remembered entering the parking area at Half Moon Bay the previous evening, then searching the area nearby, but coming up with no leads. He was walking back to the car, and that's when he saw the bloodstain on the broken asphalt—Sammy's blood. Between the coroner's news that Sam had already been cremated and seeing the stain on the asphalt, Dean had fallen apart at the seams. 

He winced as he curled his hand into a fist, or tried to anyway, and the memory of punching a nearby tree in a fit of rage and sorrow after polishing off a half a fifth of whiskey jumped front and center before his eyes. The knuckles on the ring and pinky fingers of his right hand were most likely broken, which was just about par for the course. After the memorial service, he'd go and get an X-ray. Maybe he'd be sobered up by then. 

The memorial service. How was he supposed to get through that? The understanding that he was now completely and utterly alone in this world hit him like a freight train, derailing any other coherent thoughts behind it. Not only was Sam dead, but Cas had disappeared on him after that werewolf hunt almost a year ago. Dean broke down, sobs wracking his body as he cried. 

_Sammy's dead. Sammy's dead. Sammy's dead._

Those two words ran on a nonstop loop in his mind, sometimes interrupted by John's voice telling him it was his fault. God, he just wanted to check out, be done with everything. He swiped a hand across his face, wiping it all away as he pulled himself back together again. One merciful thing about being all alone is there was no one to nag him anymore to talk about his feelings. He coped with loss the only way he knew how—by drinking to excess and punching inanimate objects. The tears would come and go as he nursed hangovers and possible broken bones, and then it was business as usual for Dean Winchester.

Dean glanced at his watch; it was almost time for the service to start. He'd decided to show up late and try to blend in with the rest of the crowd, hoping that no one would notice his presence. Even though Sam had been cremated, Dean couldn't fathom not going to his brother's memorial service, no matter how much the avoidant part of his personality wanted to skip it. He owed Sam at least that much. Besides, if monsters really had attacked Sam, his wife probably wasn't safe either. No, he'd best go and keep an eye on things for a few days, just to make sure.

An hour later, Dean got out of the Impala at the funeral home, smoothing out the wrinkles in his suit jacket. He felt ridiculous wearing something like this to Sam's memorial, but after counting the number of expensive cars parked nearby, the suit seemed the better choice. Sam never cared about money or status, Dean groused to himself, realizing a moment later that he hadn't seen or heard from Sam in twelve years. He had no idea what Sam cared about anymore. Dean pushed the thought away and took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders as he entered the funeral home. He had a right to be there just as much as any of these people, damn it. Sammy was his blood, his family, and no matter what happened between them, Sam would've wanted Dean to be there for something like this. Dean hoped so anyway.

The scent of lavender and vanilla assaulted Dean's nostrils as the glass door closed behind him. The place was packed full of people, none of whom Dean recognized, nor did they recognize him. The funeral director stepped forward to greet him, then silently directed him toward the chapel room where people were in line to give their condolences to the grieving widow. He found a spot to stand near an exit at the back of the chapel, to make a quick getaway if needed.

No one spoke to him as he watched Sam's wife—the obituary said her name was Jessica. His head was still pounding, and his vision slightly blurred at the edges, but even with all that, there was no denying Jessica was gorgeous. _Good job, Sammy!_ Dean mentally high-fived fifteen-year-old Sam, who would've found it amusing, while imagining the bitchface on eighteen-year-old Sam, who would've rolled his eyes and called Dean a perv.

Jessica sat near the front of the room, her face stoic and unwavering, as though it was a mask carved from granite. She responded to words with an automatic nod of acknowledgment, and as Dean watched her, he wondered if she heard or cared that people were speaking to her. Not that Dean blamed her at all; who could possibly want to hear "I'm sorry for your loss" roughly 500 times in two hours? Certainly not Dean. Too bad he would make it 501 times. 

Dean pushed himself off the wall and was about to take his place in line when Jessica's gaze locked on his own, and he stood frozen, unable to move, think, or even breathe. Would she recognize him? Had Sam even told her he had a brother? Jessica turned her attention to the well-wisher in front of her, and Dean made a beeline for the front door and raced to the relative safety of his car. 

_Fucking coward._ He was. He absolutely was, but admitting that wasn't going to change anything today, so he did what he was good at—he ran. 

~~~~~

Jess studied the stained glass window at the back of the chapel as her mind wandered in endless circles, the same as she had since the memorial began. One more hour, she calculated mentally, patting Mrs. Greer's hand as she offered yet another empty platitude. Jess was sick of it already, but her parents had taught her manners, so she stayed put, screaming internally the whole time.

Jess's gaze wandered again, and this time she noticed a man standing alone in the back of the room watching the crowd. When their eyes met, Jess inhaled sharply and swore her heart stopped for a moment. Those eyes, that face—she'd seen them before, she was sure of it. Beyond the spark of recognition, his eyes held the same lost and haunted look like her own, as though all the light in his soul was gone. 

Jess turned her attention toward another well-wisher, and when she searched the crowd again, the stranger was nowhere to be found. "Please excuse me for just a moment," Jess said, flashing her mother a tight smile. Carol raised her eyebrows but said nothing as Jess stood up and walked toward the door, shaking hands and greeting people along the way. 

By the time she reached the steps of the funeral home, the stranger had rolled by in a sleek, black muscle car, and Jess felt like she'd been punched in the gut as her breath left her. "Son of a bitch," Jess mumbled under her breath, drawing disapproving looks from some of Carol's friends who stood nearby. Jess smiled and waved, rolling her eyes as she turned to go back inside before Carol Moore skinned Jess alive for abandoning her mother to the people inside. Sam's death was no excuse for Jess to forget her manners; Jess sulked, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

Jess loved her family fiercely, and under normal circumstances, her mother's chirping would be met with a good-natured smirk or smartass retort, but right now, it just grated on Jess's nerves. She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders as she steeled herself to get through the rest of the day. 

~~~~~

Jess breathed a sigh of relief as the last of the flower arrangements and food was delivered, and everyone finally left her house, making promises to call and check on her often. They wouldn't, Jess knew, but she supposed the sentiment was there at least. 

This time the silence didn't come crashing in around her the exact moment she closed the door, and she wondered how long it would take before it didn't feel like a sentient presence lurking in the corner of every room, watching and waiting. 

"Alexa, play Chopin," Jess muttered as she retrieved a pad and pen from the office. Her mother would want a complete list of people who had sent flowers or food, and Jess needed something to do to occupy her hands and mind. The melody's rise and fall kept the worst thoughts at bay, but Jess knew it wouldn't last. Nothing kept the overwhelming grief away for long.

Jess finished the list, snapping a picture with her phone and sending it to Carol. She didn't notice the black Impala that parked at the curb across the street or see the man in the driver's seat fiddling with his phone, trying to decide whether to ring the doorbell or call Sammy's old number—just one more time. She stared around the open expanse of the kitchen and living room, itching for something to do to occupy her mind but found nothing. Carol and Josie really were handling everything. 

With a sigh, she went upstairs and changed back into Sam's Stanford shirt, promising herself that even if she cried herself to sleep, she would stay in their room tonight. She pulled the manila envelope out of the footlocker, spreading the pictures across their bed to look at them again. Jess studied a picture of Dean, the print on the back said age 17, and decided that yes, the man at the funeral was Dean. 

Struck with an idea, she grabbed Sam's old phone, the battery already almost dead again as she clicked through the contacts programmed into it. She snorted as she read the names— _Dean's Cell. Dean's other cell. Dean's other-other cell._

"How important does this guy think he is to have three cell phones?" Jess muttered. "I bet none of them even work anymore."

Regardless, Jess opened the new message screen on her phone and entered the first number. Her thumbs hesitated over the keys, trying to decide what she should say. After several false starts, she finally settled on short and sweet without much detail.

**_Jess:_ ** _Hi. I don't know if this is Dean's number anymore, but we should talk if it is._

A few seconds later, a response notification popped up. 

**_Unknown number:_ ** _Sorry, sweetheart. This ain't Dean, but you sound sexy as hell, and I'll gladly talk to you._

"Ugh, creep," Jess said, making a face and immediately blocking that number on her phone. She tried again, getting a slightly less crude response. Jess sent the text to the third number, and it took several minutes before the answering ping. Her heart leaped into her chest as she picked up her phone, holding her breath in anticipation. 

**_Dean's other-other cell:_ ** _hi. Is this Jessica?_

 **_Jess:_ ** _Yes. Did I see you at the memorial service?_

Jess started to wonder if Dean was going to respond when her phone pinged again. She hesitated, her fingers trembling as she reached for it, unsure what the hell she was doing right now. 

**_Dean's other-other cell:_ ** _Yeah. Sorry I bailed. I didn't think you recognized me._

 **_Jess:_ ** _I wouldn't have, but I found some pictures of you and Sam last night._

 ** _Dean's other-other cell:_ ** _How much did Sam tell you before…_

 **_Jess:_ ** _Nothing except your mom died when he was a baby._

Tears welled in Dean's eyes, and he gripped the phone in his hand so tight he almost crushed it as he fought a losing battle to keep control of his emotions. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? He typed and erased several responses, but nothing sounded neutral and not beyond pissed off and hurt like he actually was. Dean was still contemplating his response when his phone dinged again.

**_Jess:_ ** _Like I said, we should talk. I can meet you somewhere if you want, or you can come to my house._

 **_Dean's other-other cell:_ ** _Not trying to be creepy or anything, but I'm already outside. I got here a while ago, but I couldn't decide what I'd say if you actually answered the door, so I've just been sitting in my car._

A curtain moved in an upstairs window, and Dean glanced up to see Jessica's silhouette waving to him. He waved back as his phone dinged again.

**_Jess:_ ** _That's a little creepy...but I'll let it pass this time. :) Come to the door; I'll be down in a minute._

Jess ran down the stairs, pausing for a moment to take a breath and slow her thrumming heart before flipping on the porch light and opening the door. Dean stood on the porch, looking nervous as Jess pushed the storm door open to let him inside. Jess noticed the cast on his right hand as he entered, and it annoyed her that she couldn't remember seeing it at the service.

"What happened to your hand?" Jess asked, leading him into the kitchen and gesturing to take a seat on one of the barstools.

"Oh, uh," Dean said, the tips of his ears turning pink, "I might have picked a fight with a tree last night." He left out the part about finishing off a bottle of whiskey beforehand. 

Jess cocked an eyebrow at him. "Lemme guess? The tree won?" Dean nodded as a sheepish smile spread across his face. "Well, that tells me everything I need to know. You and Sam are _definitely_ related. I've seen him in more of those casts than I care to remember."

Dean nodded, as an awkward silence fell between them, punctuated by Dean's stomach growling. Jess smiled, her first real smile since before Sam was attacked, and her entire face brightened as Dean flushed crimson. "You hungry? I can get you something. I have enough food to feed an entire platoon of special forces, I think. Apparently nothing says 'sorry about your dead husband' than a casserole or lasagna, amirite?"

Dean snorted, then shook his head and avoided her gaze. "It's okay. I'm fine, really, Jessica."

"Dean, look at me." Jess's tone left little room for disagreement, and Dean did as she said. She cocked an eyebrow at him, pinning him beneath her glare the same way she'd done Sam a thousand times when he was a stubborn asshat. "First—you're family, so it's Jess. Second, when was the last time you ate something that wasn't microwaved at a Mini-Mart? You look like you've been on the road for days."

"It's been—" Dean paused, trying to count the days since he'd last seen Jody and made off with a ton of her leftover ribs. He quickly gave up trying to do the math and shrugged. "A while."

"Well, then," Jess said, opening the oversized, expensive-looking side by side refrigerator doors as wide as they'd go to give Dean the best view of the food. "Take your pick, whatever sounds good to you." Dean started to open his mouth to protest, but Jess cut him off. "And don't even think about saying no. You're hungry, and I have food, way more than I could ever eat, so please, humor me."

"Fine," Dean sighed. He didn't want to admit he was literally starving and couldn't remember eating anything for at least the last three days, maybe longer—which explained the violent return of the remaining whiskey in his stomach that morning. "What's in the glass bowl there with the purple lid?"

"Good question," Jess said, setting the bowl on the bar in between them. "Drumroll please." She beat a tiny rhythm on the lid, then peeled it open. "Hmm, looks like spaghetti with meat sauce. You want me to heat it up for you?"

Dean swallowed, unwilling to nod his head. The smell of the cold spaghetti permeated the space above the bowl, and Dean's stomach gave another angry growl. One corner of Jess's mouth lifted in a knowing smile and she held up one finger, then moved around the kitchen, grabbing bowls and silverware. Dean watched in silent embarrassment as Jess heated a heaping bowl of spaghetti and slid it across the bar to him before putting her own bowl in to warm. He hesitated, his gaze moving between Jess and the food in front of him. His mouth watered, and it was almost impossible to resist taking a bite.

"Go ahead, eat," Jess said, gesturing at the bowl in front of him. "You don't have to wait for me." Dean nodded and took a huge bite. When her own bowl was done, she set it on the counter, twirling her fork in the noodles a few times. She still had no appetite but didn't think it was fair to insist Dean eat without at least trying a few bites too. "You want a beer or something?"

"Thaf founs greaf," Dean said around a mouthful of food. Jess chuckled, setting her fork down. 

"Be right back," she said, disappearing through a door leading to the garage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure I like the flow of this chapter, so feedback is appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

One corner of Dean's mouth twitched as Jess disappeared into the garage. The only other person in his life that ever tried to take care of him was Jody, and he hadn't realized until that moment how much it meant to him. Jess accepted Dean as her family without hesitation or question and tried to take care of him in the way family was supposed to do. It didn't take a genius to figure out why Sam married her.

Dean was still smiling to himself as Jess walked through the door, holding two beer bottles. "What?" She asked, frowning as she slid one bottle across the island toward Dean. 

"Nothing. I was just thinking," Dean shook his head, taking a drink from the bottle. He closed his eyes and nodded in appreciation as he set the bottle down and picked up his fork again. "Can I ask you something?" 

Apprehension flitted across her features, gone almost in an instant. "Sure, I guess so." 

"How long were you and Sam together?" 

Tears glinted in Jess's eyes as she considered the question, but the past tense of the words hit her with the same force as if Dean had just slapped her. Her lip trembled, but she forced herself to take a deep breath. "We were together for ten years, married for five. We met in college." 

Dean smiled, taking another drink of his beer. He had more questions, but he wasn't blind; he'd seen how much talking about Sam hurt her. "I don't mean to upset you. We don't have to talk about Sam if you don't want to." 

Jess's swallowed, blinking hard as she fixed her gaze on Dean. She blew out a breath and shook her head. "It's not that. I do want to talk about him, it's just—" Jess blinked again, "it's a lot harder than I thought it would be. But, that's why you're here, right? You want to know about your brother's life." 

Dean nodded, his appetite suddenly gone. He pushed the plate away, still fiddling with the fork as though he couldn't decide if he was done with it. Jess nodded back, taking a drink from her own bottle. "Well then," she said with more determination than she felt. "What do you want to know?" 

"How did you two meet?" He asked, frowning as Jess chuckled dryly. 

"That is an interesting story actually," she replied. "We met at a frat party our second year. It was right around Spring Break, I think? Anyway, me and a friend of mine had gone outside to get some air and I saw Sam arguing on the phone with someone. An instant later he chucked the phone against the side of the house then turned and punched the nearest oak tree." 

Jess lifted a brow and smirked at Dean before continuing. "Anyway, I asked him if he was alright, he told me it was no big deal. We talked for the next few hours and then he walked me back to my dorm. It wasn't until the next time I saw him with a cast that I realized he'd spent all that time talking to me in excruciating pain because he'd just broken his hand on the tree. After learning that, it seemed kinda mean to turn him down when he asked me for a date." Jess smiled fondly at the memory; Dean tried not to stare at the way her eyes went soft when she spoke of Sam. "The rest is history. He never did tell me who he was talking to that night, though." 

Dean was happy for his brother; he really was. Sam had broken free of the hunting life and found someone to love that loved him back. It was all Dean had ever dreamed of having, for both himself and Sam. At least one of them got to actually experience it, right? 

"I know," Dean said quietly, shaking his head as he took another pull from the bottle. Jess tilted her head, waiting expectantly for an answer, although she was confident she wouldn't like what she heard. Dean shrugged, avoiding her gaze. 

"Well," Jess said, glaring at him, "are you gonna tell me or not?" 

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, then ran a hand down his face, still not looking at Jess. "Dad. Let's just say March 2003 was a rough time for the Winchester family." He really didn't want to talk about what John did after Sam told him in no uncertain terms to go to hell. Dean shook his head, fixing his gaze on the countertop. 

"I see," Jess breathed, unsure of what else to say. Dean clearly didn't really want to talk about it, but the curiosity about Sam's life before her demanded answers. Isn't that why she contacted Dean in the first place? "I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but do you know what happened that made Sam punch a tree after breaking his phone?" 

"Dad demanded Sam dropout of school to help with the family business," Dean said with a shrug. "Sam refused, although I knew he would. Somehow Dad didn't understand that none of his usual overbearing bs would work on Sam, at least not like it did when we were kids." 

Jess's eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing as she took another drink of her beer. A short silence fell between them as she cleaned up the plates of spaghetti. Dean watched her, unsure of what to say now. He wasn't usually at a loss for words, but this wasn't a normal situation he could just sweet talk his way out of, either. 

"So does the 'family business' have anything to do with the footlocker full of knives and various other weapons and occult stuff currently sitting in my bedroom closet?" Jess asked, forcing herself not to panic. _Please, please—let the answer be no._

"If I answer that, will you tell me what really happened to Sam?" Jess nodded and Dean blew out a breath. "Yes," he answered. "Now—your turn." 

_Dammit._

"I'm not even sure exactly _what_ I saw," Jess started, squeezing her eyes closed and trying to block the flashes of memory. "We were walking back to the car, and Sam got really weird. He told me to go and get somewhere safe no matter what happened. Like he knew it was coming or something. Then he told me he loved me and shoved me into the bushes right before he got attacked." 

"What attacked him, Jess?" Dean asked, searching her face. "What did you see?" 

Dean's gaze bored into hers, and she glanced away, trying to avoid the haunted green depths of them. Jess somehow knew he would believe anything she said, but she couldn't bring herself to believe it, no matter how hard she tried. "Wolves," she lied, turning away from him to wash the plates in the sink. "It was wolves," Jess repeated, as though trying to convince herself more than Dean. 

"Jess," Dean said, using the same tone he'd used a thousand times with recalcitrant witnesses. "Whatever it is you saw or _think_ you saw, I'll believe you. I promise." 

Jess stopped scrubbing the plates, tilting her face up to the ceiling as she closed her eyes. "It doesn't matter what I saw. So regardless of whether I tell the cops it was wolves or I say what I really saw, the end result is still the same. Sam is still dead, and I couldn't save him. I couldn't even help him. He's dead, and it's all my fault." 

She let her chin drop to her chest, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. "It's my fault," she whispered, almost too low for Dean to hear. Dean slid off the barstool and pulled Jess into a hug, feeling the wetness spread across his t-shirt as she buried her face in his chest and cried, clinging to his shirt like a child. 

"Shh," Dean said, smoothing her hair. "It's not your fault, Jess. You didn't attack him, and you damn sure didn't kill him." 

"You don't understand, Dean," Jess said, pulling away from him and wiping her face angrily. "I am proficient in two different types of martial arts, and when I saw them, I just froze. I couldn't move—because I couldn't believe what I saw. Sam died because I was afraid. Maybe if he'd just told me—" she closed her mouth, her teeth clicking audibly as they slammed together. She was not going to blame Sam for what happened. Not helping Sam that night was all on her, and it didn't matter the reason why. 

"Jess," Dean said, laying a hand on her shoulder and lifting her chin to look her in the eyes. "That's not your fault. Sam wanted you safe, it's why he told you to go. If you'd tried to help, your parents probably would've had to have a memorial service for the both of you." 

Jess sniffed as Dean pulled her into another hug. "I know you don't want to say what you really saw, but I swear on Sam's memory I will believe you, and I won't say a word to anyone. I just want to know what happened to my little brother." 

Silence fell across the room as the two of them stood embracing one another for a long time. Dean wasn't Sam, but he had the same steadying presence. His body was solid muscle, albeit a bit on the thin side, and she could feel the strength in his arms as they held onto her. It made her miss Sam even more. 

Jess nodded, stepping out of his reach. An odd feeling of wanting came over Dean as she moved further away, and he forced it away. It didn't matter if Sam was dead, Jess was still his wife, and Dean wasn't going to go there. Nope, it wasn't gonna happen. "Sam said the word werewolf while he was talking to them. There were three of them, and they had these long black claws and ugly pointed teeth. I didn't hear everything, but their leader asked Sam where you were." 

"Me?" Dean asked, his eyes widening. "Why?" 

Jess shook her head. "I don't know. Something about their pack alpha? It was windy and I didn't catch everything." 

Dean's stomach felt like it was full of lead, and his guts turned to water. "No," he breathed, shaking his head as tears filled his eyes. "No, that's not possible. Me and Cas—we killed that whole pack. There were seven of them." 

"There were ten, apparently," Jess said, careful to keep her tone neutral. A stunned silence fell between them as Dean avoided Jess's eyes. 

"I have to go," Dean said suddenly, striding toward the door. He was fast, but Jess got lucky and moved faster, blocking his way out the front door. He stopped, scowling down at her. "Move Jess. I have to go." 

"And do what?" she snapped, suddenly both furious and terrified. "Get yourself killed too? No, I don't think so. I've already lost Sam, do you think I want to go to your memorial service next?" 

Dean froze, tilting his head to one side and giving Jess a curious look. "Why would you even care? You don't know me from Adam." 

"You're Sam's brother, and as far as I can tell, his only living family," Jess replied, shrugging one shoulder. "That automatically makes you family to me. I love Sam, and until you do something to make me regret it, I love you like a brother because of your connection to him. Which means I get to tell you when you're about to do something utterly stupid." 

"Move, Jess," Dean gritted, glaring at her. She stared back at him, her gaze impassive and unwavering, and he suddenly wondered how many times she'd stared Sam down when he wanted to do something dumb. 

"Case in point," Jess growled, pointing a finger at him. "Do you think Sam would want you to do this? Do you think he'd want you to get yourself killed? Hell, do you even know where to start _looking_ for them!?" 

"It doesn't matter what he'd want, Jess!" Dean shot back. "Sam is dead, and it's _my_ fault! I have to fix it!" 

"Fix it?" Jess said, crossing her arms, "Whatever you do isn't going to bring Sam back! He's gone, Dean! He's—" the words caught in her throat, strangling her, as fresh tears fell down her cheeks again. "Gone," she whispered. 

Dean stared at Jess as she hung her head, then ran a hand down her face as she lifted her gaze to him. "I may not know much about Sam's past, but what I do know is that he wouldn't want you to do something like this. And he damn sure wouldn't want you to do it alone," Jess said quietly. 

"Well, I'm fresh out of brothers to take with me, so—" Dean motioned for Jess to move away from the door. When she ignored him, he reached out to grab her shoulders. Before he knew what happened, Dean was on the foyer floor with his arm pinned behind his back, grunting in pain as he tried to catch his breath. 

"What part of I know two types of martial arts did you not understand, Dean?" Jess growled from behind him as she released his arm and held out her hand to help him to his feet. 

"Well, that explains why you weren't afraid to let a strange man into your house," Dean muttered, smoothing his clothes as he stood up, and Jess rolled her eyes at him. 

"Look," she said, holding up her hands and gesturing toward the couch. "I can't force you to stay, but I don't want you to go—at least, not right now. So, why don't we sit down and talk some more?" 

"Talking isn't going to fix what I did or change the fact that it cost Sam his life," Dean murmured, staring out the door, willing himself not to fall apart in front of Jess. He could do it later, when he was away from her, but not right now. 

"And who's going to protect me if they come back, hmm?" Jess asked, giving Dean one of her pointed stares that he swore could turn fire to ice. Dean rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and sighed. 

"Pretty sure you can take care of yourself, Jess. You don't seem like the damsel-in-distress who needs saving from the dragon," Dean said, his eyes glinting with amusement. 

"Touche," Jess agreed, one corner of her mouth twitching, "but it doesn't change the fact that I don't want you to get yourself killed. There's no point in running off half-cocked with 'fix-it' being the plan, whatever you may think that means. I'm angry Sam is gone too, but losing your head won't help anything." 

Dean sighed, running a hand across his mouth. "I'm not going to win this one, am I?" 

"No," Jess said with a slight smirk as she gestured toward the living area. "Might as well get used to it." 

"Did Sam?" Dean asked, taking a seat on the couch across from Jess's favorite overstuffed chair. 

"Eventually," Jess teased. "It took him a long time though. He doesn't—sorry, didn't—like to lose." 

"Tell me about it," Dean snorted, shaking his head. "We had a prank war once that lasted six months because Sam wouldn't admit defeat. He just couldn't accept that I'm the older brother and I know him better than anyone, so I knew what he planned to do almost before he did." 

Jess's face faltered, but she said nothing. "I-I'm sorry," Dean said, realizing what he'd said to upset her, "I didn't mean it like that." 

"No, you're probably right," Jess said quietly, staring at her hands folded in her lap and trying to ignore how much that acknowledgment hurt. "Sam never told me a single thing about his life before Stanford, other than your mom died when he was six months old. I asked all the time in the beginning, but he'd just smile, shake his head, and change the subject. All his secrets stayed locked in that damn footlocker upstairs, and the first time I ever saw what was inside was last night, when I unlocked it myself. Too bad it left me with more questions than answers." 

"Is that how you got my number?" 

Jess nodded. "There was an envelope," she said, gesturing with her hands, "in the box. It was full of photos, letters, postcards, and a cell phone. It had twenty three voicemails on it, and all of them were from you." 

"How'd you get into it?" Dean asked, frowning. "Sammy's paranoid as hell. He had passcodes for everything." Jess chuckled, shrugging. 

"He must've gotten lazy over the years. He only had two passcodes that he used for _everything_. I took a chance and guessed." Jess flashed a slight smile at the memory of Sam trying to be secretive with his passwords. "So anyway, I have a question for you." 

Dean raised an eyebrow, then leaned back on the couch and gestured for Jess to continue. "What does the 'family business' you mentioned earlier have to do with what I found in that box in my closet?" 

Dean grimaced, unsure of how to answer. "Well," he said, clearing his throat, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. "The truth is, the family business is hunting things like what killed Sam." 

"And your mom?" Jess asked, her eyes full of concern. 

Dean dropped his gaze, suddenly very interested in his fingernails as he nodded. "Yeah. How did you—" 

"Heya Sammy," Jess recalled from memory, "probably shouldn't say this in a voicemail, but me and Dad ganked the thing that killed mom." 

Dean stared at Jess, incredulous. Tears shone in his eyes at Jess's recital of the voicemail, and she smiled softly at him as a tear slipped down her cheek. "Did Sam know?" Dean asked. "About Dad, I mean?" 

Jess shook her head. "I honestly couldn't tell you, but I don't think so. I don't think he ever checked those messages, and he never talked about his childhood. Like—ever." 

Dean nodded, withdrawing into himself. Anger and guilt raged within him, each trying to get the upper hand and convince him to do something stupid. It didn't matter that Jess was right, and whatever he did now wouldn't bring Sam back. Even if he could find a way, Jess had honored Sam's wishes and cremated him. A few moments of silence passed between them, then Jess stifled a yawn. 

"I should probably get going," Dean said, standing up. "It's getting late." 

"Where are you staying?" Jess asked, regarding him with that pointed look of hers. Dean gave a noncommittal shrug, and Jess shook her head. "Nope, that's not the right answer. You're staying here. There's a guest room upstairs." 

"Jess, I—" he started, but she cut him off. 

"You're staying here," Jess said, emphasizing each word. "There's enough space, you're not imposing, and I want you to stay. Does that cover everything?" 

"I don't think Sam would want me here," Dean said quietly. Jess heaved a sigh, pushing herself out of the chair to stand in front of Dean. He avoided her eyes, and she grabbed his chin with her hand, gently forcing Dean to look at her. 

"Well, Sam's not here," Jess said, searching Dean's face, "and even if he was, you'd still be staying. No matter what happened between you guys before Sam left for college, you never stopped being brothers, and Sam of all people knows how I feel about family. He'd understand, or he wouldn't, but either way you're welcome in this house. Got it?" 

Dean nodded slowly, and Jess released his chin. "Good. Now go get your stuff and let's get you settled." She waved her hand toward the front door. Dean smiled to himself as he headed for the door, turning to look back at Jess as he opened it. 

"Do you always get what you want?" Dean asked, his tongue caught between his teeth as he chuckled and shook his head. Jess's breath caught in her throat as the corners of his eyes crinkled the same way Sam's always had when she'd amused him. 

"Usually," she replied, smirking at him, "might as well get used to it." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit heavy on the dialogue, but I like how it came out. Let me know what you think in the comments!


	6. Chapter 6

Dean let out a breath, dropping his duffle bag onto the guest bed and glancing appreciatively around the moderately sized room. The door latch clicked softly behind him as Jessica left him alone to settle in. Silence enveloped him like a heavy wool blanket, and he understood why Jess insisted he stay. The silence in the house might be deafening, but at least she wasn’t alone in it as well. 

He perched himself on the edge of the bed and let out a groan as the memory foam mattress enveloped his backside. This was probably the most expensive mattress he’d ever _sat_ on, let alone spent the night on, and Dean wondered idly if Sam had made that good of a life for himself on his own or if Jess was some kind of trust fund brat. Not that really mattered, he decided. Even if Jess was a trust fund brat, she wasn’t like others he’d met, and he assumed that’s why Sam had fallen for her. 

Dean unzipped the bag, looking for something to sleep in. Jess mentioned a bathroom down the hall, and if the expensive mattress was any indication, he could only hope the shower was just as awesome. He gathered up his clothes and stuck his head out of the room, glancing up and down the dark hallway. A sliver of light spilled out of the almost closed door of Jess’s room, and he forced himself not to think too hard about what she might be doing in there as he tiptoed down the hallway to the two closed doors at the opposite end. 

Which one was it? Jess hadn’t been specific. Dean stood in the hallway for a moment, then picked the left door, turning the knob and pushing it open. The room was dark beyond the hallway, but he could instantly tell it was too large to be a bathroom. Curiosity overwhelmed him, and he flipped on the light. _What the hell? A nursery?!_

Dean cleared his throat, flipping off the light switch and closing the door. A thousand thoughts raced through his head as he tried to make sense of what he’d seen. Sam was going to be a father? Was Jess pregnant now, or was it something they’d been trying for? He hurried through the actual bathroom door, closing it quickly behind him as he heard Jess’s footsteps approaching her own bedroom door. He didn’t want to have the awkward conversation to explain why he was standing out in the middle of the hallway looking like a confused Pikachu, thank you very much.

Dean turned on the shower, a little moan escaping him as the steam hit him full in the face, and when he stepped inside, he was 99% sure he’d been the one to die and go to heaven. No doubt about it, Sammy had done well for himself in more ways than one.

~~~~~

Jess heard the shower start, and she stopped pacing the length of her bedroom. She stood still, facing the bed and eyeing it as though it might attack her. The idea of sleeping on that bed was both torture and escape, and Jess couldn’t decide which one would win out in the end. This house was too big for just her; even with Dean down the hallway, the silence was still deafening. In the days since Sam’s death, his absence had only become more pronounced, and the simmering anger that comes with sudden, tragic loss was beginning to turn into a boiling cauldron. Someone had to pay for what happened to Sam, and Jess couldn’t save him that night, so it was up to her to avenge him. Right?

_Have you gone completely insane?_ Jess shook her head, scrubbing her face and willing herself not to cry again. The tears came anyway, but they were softer this time, unlike the gut-wrenching crying fit she’d had the night before in the nursery. Jess wiped them away, deciding no, she hadn’t gone insane; if anything, she saw things more clearly now. 

It had taken her until now to understand Dean’s immediate visceral reaction to the truth about how and why Sam died, but understand it she did. There was no way she’d ever be able to tell the cops—or even her family, what really happened that night at Half Moon Bay beach. She still didn’t quite understand everything herself, but what she did understand was enough. Jess highly doubted she’d be able to keep Dean from going on his ill-fated mission to avenge Sam’s death, so she would just have to convince him to let her come along. It didn’t matter to her one way or another if Dean did or didn’t _let_ her come with him because she’d be going either way. 

“First things first,” Jess said to no one in particular as she flung open the closet doors and drug the footlocker out into the middle of the bedroom floor. “Research.” 

Jess barely registered the shower cutting off in the bathroom as she stifled a yawn. She opened the bedroom door and almost ran into Dean’s bare chest as she headed downstairs to make more coffee. It wasn’t the first all-nighter she’d pulled, just the first one lately, and she was feeling more than a little out of it. 

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Jess said as she tried not to let her eyes wander. She might’ve been married to Sam and loved him more than life itself, but she wasn’t dead, and she appreciated beauty in whatever form it took. _Knock it off! That’s Sam’s brother!_ “I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on, and I was just going to make some coffee. You want some?” 

Dean glanced over Jess’s shoulder into the bedroom, catching a glimpse of the battered footlocker he’d seen so many times over the years. Sam always said it was easier to stack than a duffle, especially since he’d always insisted on practically carrying a library with him everywhere he went. “Sure,” he said, a slight smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, “what kind of work are you doing? Maybe I can help.”

“Research,” Jess replied quickly, turning the lock and closing the door behind her as she headed for the stairs. “For a—a project I’m working on.” 

“A project, hmm?” Dean replied, amusement glinting in his eyes. Jess was lying, and he wondered if she had any idea how terrible she was at it. Or, maybe it wasn’t that she was a terrible liar; it was that he lied professionally and could spot one a mile away. “What kind of project?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jess mumbled, turning away from him and bounding down the steps, praying that he’d just go back to his room. “You wouldn’t be interested.”

“Try me,” Dean replied from the top of the stairs. 

“Sorry,” Jess shrugged, glancing over her shoulder as she disappeared through the arched opening toward the kitchen. “Coffee calls.”

Dean shook his head, eyeing the door to Jess’s bedroom. It was an ordinary household doorknob and would take him less than a second to pick, and for a moment, he thought about doing it just to mess with Jess. Uneasiness clawed at the base of his spine at the sight of Sam’s footlocker out in the open of their room. Sam had always been super secretive about what he kept inside there, so much that Dean didn’t even have any idea what he’d hauled off to Stanford with him when he bailed out of their lives for good, and Dean wanted to get a look inside it more than he would care to admit.

Dean was still standing in the middle of the hallway, contemplating his life choices when Jessica appeared at the top of the steps again, carrying two mugs of steaming black coffee. A faint smile curved her lips when she noticed Dean’s indecisiveness.

“Here,” she said, holding a mug out to him. “This won’t help you decide, but I am glad you didn’t force your way in there.”

Dean’s eyes went round as he sputtered, shaking his head. “Wha—what are you talking about?”

Jess rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her coffee as she passed him and unlocked the door with a bobby pin. “Come on, Dean. Do you really think I didn’t know you saw Sam’s box in there?”

Dean flushed a brilliant shade of pink that made his green eyes stand out from the rest of his face. Jess smiled at him, then tilted her head toward the room. “I know you’re dying to know, so come on it and I’ll show you. You said you wanted to help with my project, right?”

Dean nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “Y-yeah, I did. But if this _project_ is what I think it is, you can forget it, Jess.”

Jess gave Dean an innocent look, then shrugged and disappeared into the bedroom. “Last time I checked, I’m an adult and I can do whatever I want,” she called out from somewhere inside, her voice muffled through the walls. 

Protective annoyance surged through him as he strode into the room behind her, determined to give her a piece of his mind. He found Jess on her knees in front of the footlocker, sorting the books and journals, her face a mask of set determination. “Jess,” Dean breathed, but Jess refused to look at him. “Jess, you can’t do this. You’ll get yourself killed.” 

“Maybe,” Jess replied, opening a book about werewolves and balancing it across her thighs. “But at least I will be doing _something_ to try and make up for not doing anything that night.”

“Jess,” Dean pleaded, sitting down beside her on the floor, “those werewolves tore Sam apart and he’d been a hunter his entire life. What do you think they’ll do to you? It’s too dangerous and I can’t let you do it. I will hunt them down, and I will kill them. It’s my mess, I’ll clean it up.”

Jess set the book to the side, fixing her annoyed glare on Dean. “You won’t _let_ me? Let me tell you something. I don’t answer to anyone, least of all you. I’m not stupid, Dean. I know how dangerous this will be, but I don’t care. Sam was my husband, and he died because of both of us. The least I can do is try to make his killers pay, because we both know the cops will never catch them.”

“Sam wouldn’t want this for you, Jess,” Dean growled. “Hell, he didn’t even want it for himself and it was in his blood. He’d never be okay with this.”

Jess’s mouth set in a grim line as she glared at him, tears glinting in her eyes. “Sam isn’t here, Dean,” she gritted, taking a deep breath to steady her voice. “He’s not here, and I _have_ to do this. Just like you feel like you made the mess and have to clean it up. So, the question is, are we doing this together or not? Because even if you say no, I’m still going to try.” 

Dean sighed, running a hand down his face and scratching at his jawline. He had no doubt that Jess meant every word of what she said, but he doubted Sam would forgive him in any afterlife if Jess got herself killed. Sam had been determined to have a normal, safe life, and he’d gotten that until Dean screwed up and didn’t do all his research before charging in. Cas had been so angry at Dean’s recklessness, in the end, he’d thrown up his hands and walked away. That hunt was a year ago, and Dean hadn’t seen or heard from Cas since that night. No, This was Dean’s fault, not Jess’s, and he would be the one to fix it.

_Do you really think she’s going to sit back and let you do this by yourself? Wouldn’t it be easier to work together and then go your separate ways after the threat is gone?_

Easier? Absolutely not. Better? Maybe. But—if Jess was already pregnant, she had no business out there hunting monsters. She had no business doing it anyway, but pregnant? Dean would see her chained to a wall for her own safety before agreeing to let her hunt while carrying Sam’s child.

“We’re not,” Dean said finally. “You have no business out there doing what I do. Especially not since—”

“Since what, Dean?” Jess snarled, her cheeks darkening. “Since I’m a woman?”

“What?! No!” Dean rolled his eyes. “This ain’t about you being a woman. Women hunt all the time. One of the best hunters I know is a woman. It’s about—” he paused, taking a deep breath, “I saw the nursery, Jess. I stumbled on it when I was looking for the bathroom.”

“And you thought—” Jess nodded once, pressing her lips together as she closed her eyes. “I’m not pregnant, Dean.”

“What’s it for, then?”

Jess took a deep breath, wondering for an instant how much to tell him. She supposed it didn’t matter now, and if it made him understand her reasons for doing what she was about to do, then it would be worth it. “Sam and I were in the process of adopting a baby,” she said, clearing her throat as her voice trembled. “The judge was supposed to sign the papers and we were supposed to bring her home the day of the memorial service.”

“Oh, Jess. I’m so sorry,” Dean whispered, unsure of what else to say. He wanted to hug her again, but he wasn’t sure if it was for entirely selfless reasons, so he didn’t. 

Jess shook her head, wiping away a stray tear. “It’s okay, really. Or, at least it will be. It just wasn’t meant to be, I guess.” Desperate to avoid Dean’s gaze, Jess studied her cuticles and tried not to think too hard about the things she’d lost in the last week. “But it’s just one more reason I have to do _something_ , Dean. If I just sit here, reliving memories and stewing about what might’ve been I’m going to lose my fucking mind. I would think that you of all people might understand that.”

“Believe me, I do,” Dean replied, eyeing the contents of the footlocker. “But this isn’t the answer, Jess. Sam absolutely hated this life, and fought Dad every step of the way until he finally escaped to Stanford when he turned eighteen. Dad was so pissed when Sam left he told him not to ever come back. I may not know the man Sam grew into, but I know the Sam I knew would _not_ want you to do this.”

“I know,” Jess said softly. “But it’s not really even about Sam now. This is something I need to do for me. I need to know that if I’d known I would’ve acted differently, that I would’ve done something besides hide in the bushes like some scared child. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life hunting monsters, Dean, but these monsters—oh yeah, I will hunt these.”

“That’s how our dad got pulled into the life,” Dean said, venom coloring every syllable of his words. Jess glanced up at him, watching his jaw muscle twitch the same way Sam’s always had when he was angry and trying not to explode. “Our mother was killed by a demon. Dad got obsessed with revenge, and we spent our whole lives one the road chasing the thing. He eventually killed it, but it cost him everything to do it. Mom—dead, Sam—gone, Him—well, he’s dead too. I can’t sit back and watch you destroy whatever life you and Sam have built here. I’m already in this life, this is how it ends for me. I can do this, and I can do it for both of us, Jess.”

Jess opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to find any words to answer him, but her mind was uncharacteristically blank. She shook her head, determined to clear the cobwebs as he watched her, his eyes soft and sad. 

“No,” she said, breaking the silence between them. “Here’s the deal. We do it together, or we don’t do it at all. If you go alone, I’m going to worry myself sick about you the whole time you’re gone, to the point I will just try to follow you. So we might as well start out that way.”

Dean gave an exasperated sigh, his head lolling back as he glared at the ceiling. “And what about _your_ life, Jess? Are you just going to abandon everything you and Sam built here to go monster hunting with me? What about your job—this house?”

“Dean, I quit my job when we decided to try for a child,” Jess said, lowering her gaze. “That was two and a half years ago. It wasn’t like I enjoyed what I was doing anyway. I went to college because my Dad insisted, but because he was paying, I also had a limited choice of majors. We were doing just fine on Sam’s salary, so I quit. As for the house, well—” Jess took a long look around the room, her gaze finally settling on Dean. “There are too many memories here, and it’s too big for just me. I’ll probably end up selling it anyway.”

“Jess—” Dean started, but Jess held up her hand.

“Just—please help me do this,” she said. “It’ll be much easier on both of us if you do.”

Dean sighed, shaking his head as a slow smile crossed his face. Jessica Moore-Winchester was a beautiful, amazing woman—and she drove him absolutely nuts. Like the little nagging sister he never had or wanted. She was stubborn, bossy, and determined to have her own way about things, and Dean wondered for a moment if any of those traits had anything to do with Sam. 

Dean could imagine it if he tried really hard—Jessica going on and on, making demands about different things and Sam sitting somewhere, wearing that long-suffering look he used to reserve just for Dean, smiling at his wife and agreeing with whatever she said. Oh yes, he was sure most of what he saw before him was Sam’s doing. Maybe it was even Sam’s way of torturing him from beyond the grave. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, rolling his head around his shoulders. “Fine,” he said grudgingly. “But we aren’t leaving until you learn as much as you can about everything that goes bump in the night. Once you have that down, then we’ll move to weapons. Got it?”

Jess nodded solemnly, reaching for the discarded book about werewolves. “Fine,” she said, tilting her head as she regarded him. “I always liked research anyway.”

“Nerd,” Dean replied automatically, the way he used to do with Sam when he said something like that about research. He froze, trying to anticipate her reaction, but she wasn’t looking at him anymore. A few moments of silence passed as she looked engrossed in the book she held. 

“Bitch,” Jess muttered. Dean’s head shot up and he regarded her with curious eyes, but she studiously ignored him, the corners of her mouth twitching. He shook his head; she couldn’t have known about that. If Sam hadn’t told her anything else about his life before Stanford, she certainly couldn’t have known that Sam referred to Dean as ‘bitch.’ It was purely a coincidence—if a severely unnerving one. 

A smile crept across his face regardless, and he motioned for her to come closer. “Lemme see the book. I’ll give you the cliffnotes version.”

Jess grinned, handing over the book and scooting closer to him on the floor. “Awesome. Educate me Obi-Wan, you’re my only hope.” Laughter bubbled out of her, and she couldn’t help but feel a little bad about it. Her face fell, and Dean shook his head.

“You really are such a _nerd_ ,” Dean said, chuckling in spite of himself.


End file.
